1 month ago
6
I think the press, social media warriors, and — more to the point, my favourite, the kind, beautiful Deepika — have been unduly harsh with L&T’s S.N. Subrahmanyan.
What did he say that was so wrong, I say?
“I think we should work on Sundays, too, for how long can you stare at your wife?” or something to that effect.
From my own experience, I can tell you — not for more than three seconds max. Because my wife can outstare me even when she’s asleep. And that’s because I’m usually guilty of not closing the lid of the avakkai bottle tight enough, or using her lip gloss on days I feel less than beautiful,and my guilt makes me blink. It is also important to note here that, as Bob Hope put it so eloquently, cowards run in my family. But this isn’t about my insecurities. (There’s a three-volume omnibus set in the making covering those in alphabetical order.) It’s about the perceived impropriety of my schoolmate and senior Subrahmanyan’s perfectly acceptable statement. (See how subtly I humble-brag there, lol.)
At this point, to give weight to my claim, let’s go back to our ancient culture. Actually, in all discourse or debate, going back to our ancient culture is a fail-safe option. For instance, yesterday, my driver asked for a loan. I told him that in ancient times sarathis didn’t ask for loans, they imparted wisdom, and made him give me two hundred rupees. Again, I digress.
Ten thousand or so years ago, on the day dedicated to the Sun God, legend has it that it was prescribed in certain sacred books, the names of which escape me presently, that husbands apportion a certain amount of time to stare at their wives. (Some of them had more than one those days. So that had to be taken into account, too, while allocating time. It was all quite wonderful, I tell you.) And,in return, the wives were meant to lower their eyes shyly, and say, “Chee, go, you naughty” in whichever one of our myriad ancient languages she was proficient in. The point is that this ritual, meant to encourage intimacy and hand-to-hand combat between life partners, known as the ardhangi netra pariksha, would only last for a few minutes. Because men had to go hunting or gathering depending on whether they preferred Udipi Shri Shanti Nivas-type fare or the Velu Military Hotel-type respectively. And wives had to help with the children’s gurukul homework and make ginger tea for ancient fathers-in-law. The point here is, while Sundays long ago did allot time for traditional wife-staring, it wasn’t all one did on a Sunday. Or could afford to do. You get it? Fruit and deer weren’t taking Sundays off, you see. And with refrigerator technology still in its nascent stages, thanks to our innovator forefathers concentrating on the R&D of air travel and cosmetic surgery, men still had to facilitate what has come to be known as “that-that-day-that-that-food”.
Which is roughly what Subrahmanyan Anna was referring to in his deliberately misunderstood statement. When our forefathers could manage nut-gathering and rabbit-hunting on a Sunday, while not entirely ignoring the prescribed wife-staring, why not us?
While everyone is taking objection to his comment, could someone specify to which part?
Staring at one’s wife? What is wrong, friends, with staring at one’s own wife? That is our culture. Did he say stare at that nubile Mrs Guptaji who does a rather nifty surya namaskar on the terrace next door in sheer yoga pants? No, sir.
Did he say glare, gape, peer, peek or, heaven forbid, wink at your wife? Of course not. That would be totally against our culture. If the WhatsApp forward Veeravankayala Vishwanatham, my baabai, sent me is anything to go by, that ancient book he quoted stated quite clearly that it had to be staring. And for a limited period. Nothing else.
Did Subbu in any way imply that you can’t stare at the wife on weekdays? If so, please present the evidence.
See, it was only because of the sense of proportion, prioritisation and sacrifice of the great men in our golden past that we managed to invent things like chess, sticker bindi, yoga, reverse horn and dhoti with pocket. If wife-staring was all we had been doing, could our culture have risen to such heights?
But you know what? This essay is quite redundant if you ask me. Subbu studied in the ancient city of Mylapore. And, as we all know, that means whatever he says is incontrovertible. Plus, he makes an average of 14 lakh smackeroos per day. So, as we who believe in spirituality, our ancient culture and capitalism — that unassailably sacred tripod that holds up the world — having been saying to the rest of you for years: just shutttupp, shutttupp, shutttupp. (Except Deepika. You talk, ma. We like you.)
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